


Just Between Us

by remedialpotions



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 22:02:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11068008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remedialpotions/pseuds/remedialpotions
Summary: Ron and Hermione had plenty of time alone together at the end of their sixth year, so what exactly did they get up to without Harry around? HBP missing moments. Complete!





	1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is my take on what Hermione and Ron might have been up to while Harry was off having alone with Ginny during those last weeks of sixth year. It will be multiple chapters. I hope you enjoy it!

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Or Hermione. Or Ron. Or anyone else!

* * *

 

Ron looks like someone has just punched him in the stomach. The Fat Lady's portrait swings shut, nervous giggles break out, and Dean Thomas sets about hastily repairing the glass he just crushed. Blue eyes blinking rapidly, Ron turns to face me.

"Since when does he like her?" he asks, pale eyelashes still fluttering.

"Haven't you been paying attention these past few months?" I fire back. I certainly can't have been the only one who noticed Harry palling around with Ginny after Quidditch practice and inviting her to Hogsmeade and generally worshipping her every move.

Ron, however, turns bright red. "Er-" The column of his throat bobs as he swallows. "I guess I was a bit - preoccupied-"

"Right." The topic of Lavender pulses between us for a second, then evaporates. "Well, he's liked her all year."

"All year? But he never-"

"Would you tell your best mate that you fancied his sister?"

"Yeah, alright," he shrugs in concession. "C'mon, let's go get a butterbeer."

The Gryffindor common room has resumed its typical post-match merriment, complete with elaborate trays of food procured from the kitchen and a smuggled-in bottle of mulled mead, the latter of which Ron eyed warily upon its materialization. Harry and Ginny's very public display of affection is, for the moment, forgotten, though I'm certain it will be the number one topic of gossip tomorrow morning.

Placing a hand on my arm, Ron leads me to the far corner of the common room. This touchy-feely element to our friendship is a very recent development, and though I can't say that I mind it much (or at all…), it also sends my mind into a sort of tailspin. It should be nothing. He's just navigating the room, guiding me through, but I'm so acutely aware of his fingertips above my elbow that I nearly collide with Colin Creevey. It's downright distracting and if I'm not careful, I'm going to catch myself daydreaming about him in class. As it is, I'm already a bit spacey, unable to focus, and it has nothing to do with the butterbeer already in my system.

Ron twists out the cork in the bottle of butterbeer and I find myself staring at his fingers, the way they curled and flexed. He's always had big hands but he's grown into them lately and maybe it's all of the Quidditch, but they look strong, too. Handing me the bottle, he gives me a little smile.

"So where do you think they went?" Ron asks, opening a bottle for himself.

"Oh, Ron, I really wouldn't worry about it too much."

"I'm not… worried. Just wondering."

I almost retort that at this point, he must know all of the secret snogging places in the castle, but instead I simply take a sip of butterbeer.

His relationship with Lavender, that's a thing of the past. It has to be, because he seems fairly determined to pretend like the whole thing never happened. I would love to do the same, but even six months later, I can still recall the way my stomach flipped over when I saw him kiss her. I used to make snide little comments about them all the time, especially when they were still together, but it's time to let bygones be bygones, even though I still don't fully understand why it happened in the first place.

He's also in a really good mood for someone whose best mate just snogged his sister in front of fifty people, so I don't want to mess with that.

"Please don't give Harry a hard time over this," I request, leaning against the back of an armchair.

"Who says I'm going to give him a hard time?" With a grin, Ron picks up a piece of fudge from a nearby tray.

"Ron…"

"Look, my moment to give him grief has passed, I think, but do we have to keep talking about this?"

I'm doing my best to look out for Harry, who undoubtedly has spent most of the school year in a low-level panic over his crush on Ginny, but then Ron bites into the piece of fudge and all I see are his lips and his teeth and his tongue. When he (the world's ultimate sugar addict) washes it down with butterbeer, and his mouth curves over the end of the bottle, my palms actually start to sweat. This can't be a normal reaction to someone you've known since you were eleven, whose house you've spent summers at, whose homework you are constantly checking over - and I've spent ages trying to tamp it down - but the effect he has on me is undeniable.

"No, we don't, but please be nice to Harry, he's been through a lot."

"I'll be nice." He bites into the fudge again and then holds out the half-eaten square to me. "Try this, it's really good."

It's such an intimate thing, sharing food, but I take the chunk of chocolate anyway. Briefly I wonder if he ever did anything like this with Lavender before banishing the thought; I don't want to think about what other sorts of things they might have shared.

The fudge is good, he's right, but mostly I'm focused on this strange moment of eye contact between us. His eyes look so bright and warm and the way he's looking at me is unlike anything I've ever experienced. Has he always looked at me like this? We spent most of the school year actively avoiding each other, and honestly, he was glued to Lavender for a great portion of that. Maybe this is just the first time I'm seeing it. Maybe it's always been there.

"You played brilliantly," I find myself saying, mostly because it's true and he needs to hear it.

His face goes slightly pink and he drinks from his bottle again. "What if I told you that I drank the rest of Harry's Felix?"

" _You didn't_."

"No, I didn't," he replies, suddenly serious. "But thank you."

"Well, it would have been a waste," I tell him, "because you don't need to take a potion to play well, you never have."

"No, I just need to think that I've taken a potion."

"No, you just need confidence." I can no longer have him thinking that I don't have faith in him. "Ron, you can do anything you want, you just keep getting in your own way."

Why, everytime I try to compliment him, does it come out as a criticism? All I want is for him to know how valuable he is, how talented and clever and just plain wonderful, but the words never seem to come out the way I want them to.

"Yeah, you're probably right," he muses. "You usually are." He grins once again. "So I'm going to need your help with my Potions essay."

"I'm sure it's fine. You got an Exceeds Expectations on your OWL, remember?"

"Somehow," he chuckles. "But seriously, I do need your help."

"Fine." I can't help but smile up at him; he has managed to make himself completely irresistible.

The bottle of mulled mead makes another appearance, presented to us this time by Cormac McLaggen. He gives me a smarmy smile and hands me the bottle, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

"Don't worry, Weasley," he smirks. "This one's not poisoned. At least, I don't think it is."

I can't imagine a time will ever come that I find Ron's poisoning humorous rather than horrifying, and I open my mouth to reply, but Ron's hand lands on the small of my back.

"You probably need it more than I do, McLaggen," Ron quips casually back. "You must be knackered from watching the match from the stands, aren't you?"

As my eyes widen, McLaggen sputters incoherently and then stomps off, mead in hand. Ron looks at once proud and guilty, but he's clearly holding back laughter as he turns to face me.

"That was behavior unbecoming of a prefect, Ron," I pretend to scold him through my own smile.

"Oh, at least say it with a straight face." He drains his butterbeer and sets the bottle on the tray behind him. "Come on, we don't need mead anyway, I think I have something in my trunk."

His hand closes around mine, big and warm and slightly calloused from countless hours playing Quidditch, and he starts walking to the boys' staircase. Surreptitiously I glance around to see if anyone is watching, but everyone seems rather distracted by the circulating bottle of mead, so it's up the stairs we go.

It's not until we step into the sixth year boys' dormitory that I realize I've never been alone with Ron in here. While he kneels down in front his trunk and begins digging through, I sit down on his bed and take in my surroundings. It's oddly tidy in here - Dobby must have made a visit to clean during the match - but the Marauders Map lies open on Harry's nightstand. He must have forgotten to erase it before he left for detention this morning, because the castle is swarming with students. Behind the Herbology greenhouses, Harry and Ginny's dots are overlapping.

"Aha!" Ron exclaims, standing up with a small bottle of amber liquid in his hands. A label across the front reads _Dr. Ubbly's Oblivious Unction._

"Ron," I begin warily. "What is that, really?"

"Firewhisky."

"Ron," I hiss, scanning the room like Professor McGonagall is going to show up at any second, "how on earth did you sneak that into school? Filch-"

"Filch can't tell the difference between Firewhisky and goblin piss." He sits down on the bed next to me, our legs almost touching. "He's an idiot, he trusts the labels. It's how my brothers have been selling love potions all year."

"You are a _prefect_."

"You keep saying that," he observes, aiming his wand at a pair of stray socks that have been evicted from his trunk and Transfiguring them into small goblets. Levitating them into the air, he floats one into my lap.

"You just did all of that non-verbally." I'm trying not to marvel too much at it, since he's truly a great wizard, but the goblet is absolutely perfect.

"Oh. Yeah, I reckon I did." Ron unstoppers the Firewhisky and pours a small serving into each of our glasses. "Cheers."

It's smoky and it burns on the way down, but I hardly notice. Ron has shifted around on the bed so that our thighs are flush against each other and we are completely in a room that will surely go unoccupied for hours. Anything could happen.

"You're not going to get me in trouble, are you?" asks Ron slyly, filling his glass again.

"Huh?"

"With McGonagall," he clarifies. "About this illegal substance here?"

"Oh, I suppose not." I look down at the stone floor in an attempt to diffuse the tension between us. "We'd better go back down there, otherwise people might think…"

"Think what?"

"What Lavender thought," I mumble with a suddenly bright red face.

"Oh." Ron gulps down the Firewhisky and stands up. "Right. Yeah. Let's go."

The more I think about it, the more I've come to realize that the Felix Felicis was responsible for two breakups: Dean and Ginny, and Ron and Lavender. Since Harry had been under his Cloak, Lavender had thought that Ron and I were up in his dorm doing Merlin-knows-what and so she proceeded to very loudly and publicly proclaim that she was done with him. Ron had been more relieved than anything, and I had tried to be discreet about my own joy over it. After all, just because he doesn't want to be with Lavender doesn't necessarily mean that he wants to be with anyone else. And if people know that we snuck away, the Hogwarts rumor mill will be relentless.

If people are going to talk about me and Ron, I at least want what they're saying to be true.

So we go back to the party, and if Ron wasn't already the man of the hour for being the star Keeper on the team, his contraband Firewhisky does the job. Over the hours, the bottle is slowly depleted as shots are shared and goblets of butterbeer are spiked. Ron never leaves my side, so everyone keeps looking at me as if they're expecting me to take points from Gryffindor, but it's so hard to want to punish any of them. It's not every day that Gryffindor wins the Quidditch cup, and the night is starting to feel remarkable, like one that will be frozen in amber when I look back on it in fifty years. There's an energy in the air that I've never felt before and it's not just from the few sips of Firewhisky I took in Ron's dorm.

And Ron… Ron deserves a good night. After nearly dying earlier this year, after spending seventeen years in the shadows that his older brothers have cast, he deserves this night to be on top of the world. Not only that, he deserves a million more nights like this. I just hope my words from earlier in the night have gotten through to him, because he truly can do anything he wants. He's so much more than he realizes.

As the crowd in the common room thins, I'm curled up in a squashy armchair near the fire with Ron perched on the arm. He makes a big show of looking at his watch, then looks down at me.

"It's nearly midnight," he comments. "Where're Harry and Ginny?"

"Stop worrying about it."

"Maybe I'm worried for their safety," says Ron. "Harry's a bit of a marked man these days."

"You are not," I shoot back playfully.

"Okay, fine, I'm not, but he's been snogging my sister for hours and it's time they came up for air."

"I think you're going to have to get used to this."

On the sofa across from us, Neville Longbottom regains consciousness with a gasping breath, eyes darting around the common room. I hadn't realized it until now, but the three of us are the only ones left in the room. The fireplace crackles away, filling the silence.

"You look tired, Neville," Ron says pointedly. "You oughta just go to bed."

"Yeah," Neville agrees around a long, noisy yawn. "Yeah, alright, I'll see you lot later."

His footsteps fade as he makes for the stairs, and Ron and I are alone once again. The fire and a few lanterns provide the only light in the room, illuminating the golden strands in Ron's hair.

"I must say, I'm impressed," says Ron. "You've outlasted everyone else at the party and I didn't even think you really liked Quidditch."

"I like Quidditch players." _Whoa_. What have I just said? That's not even necessarily true, I like Ron for Ron, he just happens to be on the Quidditch team too. He's going to think I'm talking about Viktor Krum or Cormac McLaggen or, heaven forbid, Harry.

"Really good Quidditch players, from what I hear."

"Well, you won, didn't you?" It seems the words are just falling out of my mouth, a few sips of Firewhisky having completely demolished any sort of filter I may have had.

"Yeah," Ron nods as a smile spreads across his face. "Yeah, we did."

Sliding off the arm of the chair, he settles in next to me. We've been best friends for years but we've never been this close to each other, never crammed into a chair, practically on top of each other. The charge between us that's been building all night has reached its peak and my heart starts thudding powerfully against my ribcage. This moment feels like a turning point, like we've reached a precipice and we can either walk away or jump.

I want to jump.

"You were amazing," I tell him softly, not sure if I'm still talking about Quidditch.

Ron's blue eyes slip down to glance over my lips and then connect onto mine again. _He's really going to do it_.

"You're the amazing one," he breathes.

It happens in slow motion: he leans in, his breath warm on my face, our eyes close and his nose bumps mine and then, across the common room, there comes a great squeaking of hinges and the Fat Lady's strident, ingratiating voice.

"What are you lot doing out at this hour?" she scolds, her annoyance effectively destroying the moment.

"Sorry," says Harry's voice, though he doesn't sound sorry at all. Ron jumps up, raking his fingers through his hair, as I briefly join the small group of people who would like to hex Harry Potter into a jelly.

"What are you doing here?" Ginny asks as I stand and make my presence known as well.

"Er-" Ron looks over at me. "Nothing, just - nothing." For the second time that night, he looks like he's been punched in the stomach.

"Right. Well, I'm going to bed," Ginny declares, passing by me on her way to the girls' staircase and grabbing my arm. "Night, Harry."

I try to steal one last look at Ron, but he's already trudging up his own staircase.

* * *

 

Thanks for reading! Please review :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the comments and kudos on the last chapter! I very much appreciate it. Hope you like this one!

Harry Potter is the happiest I have ever seen him. He's practically giddy as he sits down at the breakfast table and helps himself to an enormous portion of scrambled eggs and sausage. Ron trails along behind him, looking a bit subdued, and seats himself across from me. Our eyes lock, and then he gives a little shake of his head, like he's trying to clear his brain, and reaches for a slice of toast.

"So what did I miss yesterday at the party?" asks Harry innocently.

"Nothing," I am quick to say, actively not looking at Ron as I stir my porridge.

Technically, nothing did happen; Ron and I are just two friends whose faces were incredibly close together for about half a second yesterday. Now, he's barely able to look at me. He was probably just tipsy on Firewhisky and the Quidditch championship and he got carried away. It's exactly what happened with Lavender six months ago, only they didn't get interrupted.

Ginny comes bounding over a second later and sits down in Harry's other side. All eyes in the Great Hall are on them (with the exception of Ron, who is quite focused on his breakfast), but neither seems to notice or care. I, for one, cannot help but beam at them once again. Harry's life has been so full of doom and gloom, and his relationship with Cho last year gave him anxiety more than anything, so it's a lovely change of pace to see him genuinely and purely happy.

Harry strikes up conversation with Ron about yesterday's match, which only makes me hide my laughter with my goblet of pumpkin juice because it means that Harry and Ginny spent all those hours not talking about the match. If Ron has caught on to that detail, he takes it in stride and soon he's giving Harry a play-by-play of every save he made yesterday. His face lights up as he talks, his passion and excitement and confidence emanating off of him. I'm not even listening to his words - most of it is Quidditch terminology anyway - just watching him. Every so often he catches my eye and his smile changes a bit, becoming gentler, sweeter.

There is no one on the planet more confusing than Ron Weasley.

"So," Harry says, shifting around to face Ginny. "Do you… want to go for a walk or something?"

As Ginny agrees, Ron mimes vomiting into his palms, earning himself a swat on the back of his head from his sister. Under the table, I drive my heel into the toe of his boot.

"Ow!" he whines. "What the hell?"

"I told you to be nice to them," I hiss, leaning across the table.

"Yeah, and I am but I'm also not going to miss a chance to take the mickey," he smiles. "We both know that if I actually had a problem with it, which I don't, I'd be acting - y'know-"

"Like a prat?"

"Well, yeah." He helps himself to a slice of bacon. "I do still need help with my Potions essay."

"I have a lot of Arithmancy homework to do first," I tell him, "so you'll have to wait."

"Yeah, alright." He looks inexplicably amused as I rise from the table. "I'll be around."

The library, which has long been my safe space, is blessedly quiet on this Sunday morning. I seek out a small table near the Restricted Section and set to work. Though Arithmancy is my favorite subject, my thoughts keep drifting back to last night. I can't have imagined all of it, can I? The way he looked at me when we were alone, his body squished into a chair with mine, the way he said I was amazing - it all happened and it's not as if I've ever had moments like that with Harry. If only Harry and Ginny had taken just two minutes longer to return to the common room, this morning could be completely different. Instead, I'm just trying to concentrate on my Arithmancy chart and forcing myself not to imagine what his lips might have felt like, tasted like.

But a few hours later, a tall figure with arms laden down with textbooks appears before me.

"As it turns out," says Ron, dropping the books on the table with a thud, "I don't have that many friends."

"What?"

"With you in here and Harry, erm, otherwise occupied, I have nobody to hang out with."

"You have other friends."

"Yeah, but they're not…you."

He sits and rests his arms atop the stack of books, then sets his chin on them as well. I turn my attention back to my parchment, but I'm too aware of him now to process anything else. I have to read the same sentence in my book five times before I retain a word of it because I can sense his eyes on me. I keep expecting him to open a book and at least pretend to study, but when I look up, he's just gazing expectantly at me.

"You really don't have any other homework to do?"

With a sigh, he cracks open the book on the top of the stack - _Standard Book of Spells, Grade 6_ \- and starts scanning the page. Satisfied, I turn back to my work, but only about five minutes lapse before the rustling of pages ceases. I look up to see him snap his eyes back down to his book.

"Stop looking at me!" I command, making his ears turn pink.

"If you just help me with Potions, I'll get out of your hair."

"No, you won't." I expect him to be irritated by this accusation, but instead he's just watching me. "You didn't come here for Potions, you came here because you're bored and you wanted to pester me."

"I can neither confirm nor deny that." The problem is that he's giving me that smile again, the warm, brilliant one, and my resolve is dwindling. "It's just that there's nothing in this book about the healing properties of doxy eggs."

"Hold on." I start rummaging through my rucksack, pretending to be exasperated as I pull out a thick, yellowed book. "I checked this out last week, it should be in here…"

Ron, rather loudly, scoots his chair around the table until he's beside me as I flip through the pages. It's then that I remember the real reason that I always end up helping him with his homework: the very closeness of it. He leans over to read the text and the scent of his hair floods my nose.

"Oh!" His voice erupts through the Ron-induced fog in my brain. "It's there." He lands a finger on the page regarding the uses of doxy eggs in magical medicine.

"Right, so it says, 'doxy eggs in their pulverized state have been implemented in many new healing potions.'" I sweep my hair away from my neck and try not to be affected by the way he's looking at me. "'Most common uses include Burn-Soothing Solutions and Blood-Clotting Creams.'"

"Erm," Ron says in a breath. "Sorry. I didn't catch any of that."

"Really?" My attempt to scold falls flat; my breath has caught in my throat.

"Yeah. Sorry."

The words fall lazily from his mouth and his smile is big and loose and if I didn't know better, I'd think he was drunk but he just seems to be in a daze. Is it… because of me? Or has he just not snogged a girl in over a month?

"Here." I shove the book toward him. "It's all right there, I'll read it through when you're finished."

"Okay."

A silence falls between us as he dutifully picks up a quill and parchment and commences the essay. He's still sitting terribly close to me and every so often he lets out a breath or swallows or scratches his nose and I lose my grip on my senses all over again.

"It makes sense that the twins were hoarding doxy eggs from Grimmauld Place, then," he comments after a while. "They probably use it for that Bruise Removal Paste they make."

"Yes, I suppose they would."

"So what do you want to do after this?" he asks casually, looking up at me through fair eyelashes. "Do you want to go down by the lake or something?"

"I - I have a lot of homework to do, and you probably do too, exams are coming up."

"Yeah," he replies, a bit morose. "I guess I could do my Transfiguration stuff."

"Okay, Ron, I don't get it," I say, sitting up and closing my book. "You're a good wizard, you're - you're a great wizard. You got seven OWLs. So why is it like pulling teeth to get you to do your work?"

The question hangs in the air as I internally panic, waiting for him to find some way to misconstrue it, but he just sets down his quill and leans back in his chair.

"It's all so technical," he explains. "So much of it is theory and proper wand movements and technique but I don't know… maybe it's because I grew up with it and it's always been there, but to me, magic is an intuitive thing."

And of course it would be. Ron is strategic and clever, but he's all heart, it's ultimately what guides him. He didn't need to memorize his textbooks before school even started because these things are an innate part of him.

"Like yesterday, when I Transfigured those goblets," Ron continues, thoughtful, "it was just - I knew what I needed, so I just did it. But it's different when we're in class and McGonagall is staring me down and we're doing something mental like turning ducks into watering cans - I start overthinking it and it just gets buggered up."

Then there's me, cerebral and bookish and studious. Sometimes it seems strange that we ever became friends at all, let alone evolved into whatever's going on now, but maybe it's more about balance than similarity.

"It's like flying a broom," he adds, now inspired. "It's almost like having a relationship with the broom-"

"A relationship?"

"Yes, it's almost like… trust, in a way. It's not technical or something you can learn from a book - I'll show you."

Twenty minutes later finds us standing in the middle of the Quidditch pitch, Ron's Cleansweep on the grass between us. Our rucksacks are lying somewhere in the stands, bearing our books and his still-unfinished Potions essay.

"So, my broom is nothing like Harry's Firebolt," he says, "but it's also nothing like that old Shooting Star we made you ride all last summer."

"So you're saying you made me ride the worst broom? Even though I'm the worst at flying?"

"Well…" He looks a bit guilty. "The good brooms would have been wasted on you." Before I can get too offended, Ron summons the broom up to waist level and grasps the handle. "Right, then. Hop on."

I clamber aboard, trying to get comfortable, while Ron climbs on behind me and slips an arm around my waist. He's just making sure I don't fall, I insist to myself. It's nothing more than that. He's just teaching me to fly as a way to procrastinate.

"Are these brooms made for two people?"

"Not officially, but it's fine, you're small."

"That's not exactly reassuring-"

But he kicks us off the ground and into the sky before I can continue expressing this concern. The broom doesn't shake and vibrate like the old school brooms or the ancient ones at the Burrow. It hangs steadily in the air, awaiting instruction.

"So just do a lap," Ron suggests.

"But - but I don't-"

I'm not familiar with the Cleansweep Eleven or its strengths and drawbacks. How much pressure would I need to apply to the handle? Is it sensitive to the touch? How quickly can it accelerate?

"Just do it."

I lean forward a bit, my stomach pressing against Ron's freckled forearm, and the broom shoots forward, nearly hurtling us headlong into the press box. Somehow, we screech to a halt.

"Okay, you've got to relax," he says from behind me. "You rode to London on a thestral last year, so this shouldn't bother you."

"That was different, we had no other choice. And to be honest, I was terrified."

It also doesn't help me relax when his chest is against my back and his fingertips are digging into my side.

"Yeah, I was too." I turn my head to look at him and find us incredibly close. If I just lean in, we can pick up where we left off in the common room… "Give it another go."

So I do, and this time I'm able to circle the pitch with relative ease. I'm no Harry or Ginny when it comes to flying and I know I never will be, but maybe Ron's right. Maybe it's not about being the best or being perfect, maybe it's about trusting your instincts. Instead of trying to calculate the exact moment to turn, I wait until it feels like I need to, and then I do. It's not effortless, but it's not exhausting or stressful either.

"That was really good," Ron says as we come to a smooth stop near a set of goal posts.

"This is a much nicer broom than I'm used to."

"Yeah, I mean, like I said, it's not exactly a Firebolt, but it's pretty good. But maybe this summer I'll let you borrow this one."

"Maybe?"

"Alright, fine." I can feel his grin even when I can't see his face. "I'll take the Shooting Star sometimes, how about that?"

"Thank you."

"Oi, turn around," he says suddenly. "It's weird trying to talk like this."

"Turn around?!" He may as well ask me to jump to my death. "We're fifty feet in the air!"

"Yeah, I'll help you." His arm leaves my waist, but his hand closes over mine, which still rests on the handle. "Just go slow."

Clutching his fingers, I carefully move one leg over the handle so that I'm sitting sidesaddle. The grassy pitch looks like it's several miles below us and my palms begin to sweat.

"Ron…"

"I've got you," he says gently. "I won't let you fall."

Trying to console myself with the thought that Harry fell from his broomstick at this height and was ultimately fine, I relocate my leg to the other side of the broom and find myself face to face with Ron.

"See?" We're still holding hands. "Wasn't so bad, was it?"

"No, I suppose it wasn't."

"And isn't flying so much better when you don't try too hard to be perfect at it?"

"It was better," I'm willing to admit.

"It's just one of those things, you can't think too hard about it." Ron's cheeks are flushed from the wind, and I have to stop myself from smoothing down his tousled hair. "It just feels natural… it feels… right."

_Is he still talking about flying?_

What if I have it all wrong? What if this is just his way of trying to get me to lighten up? I've gotten my hopes up about him so many times - with the Yule Ball, when I thought he might ask me in a way that didn't involve him observing aloud that I'm a girl, and with that debacle of a Christmas party months ago - that it seems foolish to expect anything more from him. Because if he does fancy me, then why would he ever kiss Lavender to begin with?

But I really want to kiss him. I could go for it, take charge - after all, why should I expect him to make the first move? - but aside from the inherent risk of plummeting to our deaths, this would be a terribly awkward place for him to reject me.

"We should probably go inside," I suggest. "It's nearly lunchtime and we still have homework."

"Yeah," he nods, that dazed look on his face again. "Well, I don't reckon you're too keen on turning around again."

"Not particularly."

Ron drops my hand and leans forward to clutch the broom handle behind me. He shifts his weight so the broom starts floating gently toward the ground and our eyes meet. It's getting to the point now where the fear of rejection isn't nearly as strong as my desire to just take the leap. Term is ending in a few short weeks, and while I'm sure I'll spend a good portion of the summer at the Burrow, it still feels like time is slipping away. Between exams and prefect duties and worrying about Harry, we actually don't have tons of free time.

If I kiss him, the worst that happens is that it's awkward and weird or he thinks that I'm barmy and it renders our friendship irreparable. I have to decide if it's worth that risk.

Our feet touch down and the Cleansweep falls to the ground. Ron picks it up and props it on his shoulder before taking my hand.

"We'll finish Potions after lunch," he assures me as we begin to walk.

"Okay," I agree.

But as we walk back to the castle hand in hand, I have to admit that homework is the last thing on my mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please review :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own Harry Potter.

A person would have to be crazy to roam about the castle after hours these days what with Katie Bell’s cursing and Ron's poisoning, but that doesn't mean that prefect rounds have been discontinued. Ron and I are traversing the sixth floor of the castle on a quiet, cool Monday night, our footsteps echoing off the walls. He's been quiet tonight and I wonder if he's been thinking the same thing: that nobody would know if we snuck into an empty classroom for half an hour. Perhaps Filch might catch us, but it's a big castle…

“Let's play a game,” says Ron as we turn a corner. “Like a ‘would you rather’ thing.”

“Okay…”

“Would you rather fight one hippogriff-sized duck or a hundred duck-sized hippogriffs?”

“What kind of question is that?” I laugh.

“Don't question the questions,” he replies, pretending to be stern. “Just answer. And you can't say neither.”

“I suppose the one hippogriff-sized duck, then. It would be easier to stupefy.”

“Okay, good,” he chuckles. “Now you do one.”

“Alright… erm…” _Would you rather kiss me or Lavender?_ “Would you rather be flatmates with Aragog or Draco Malfoy?”

“Aragog,” says Ron. “He's kicked the bucket and acromantula venom is really valuable.”

“Okay, then not Aragog, Aragog’s son.”

“Then Malfoy, definitely. I’ll just punch him, I've done it before.” Ron gives a satisfied nod. “Would you rather have no arms or no legs?”

“No arms, I would get really good at wandless magic.”

“I bet you already are and you just don't know it,” he says with admiration lacing his voice.

“Would you rather give up chocolate or Quidditch?”

“Ooh.” He stops in his tracks to face me. “Pulling out the tough questions tonight, aren't you?”

“You have to answer.”

“You're killing me, Hermione.” He gives a cursory glance into an empty classroom. “Am I at least allowed to watch Quidditch?"

“No.” I watch his face fall dramatically as if this scenario is at all real. “Quidditch doesn't exist to you anymore.”

“Then I give up chocolate,” he decides. “Would you rather… hmm.” He looks almost mischievous. “Would you rather give up books or Crookshanks?”

“ _What_?” At my horrorstruck struck expression, Ron bursts out laughing. “That is a horrible thing to say!”

“You've got to answer.”

“Well, someone will look after Crookshanks, right?”

His jaw falls open. “You're choosing books!”

“I'm just clarifying the scenario!”

“You chose books,” he declares, now coming to a stop outside of a broom closet. Holding a finger to his lips, he jerks his head toward the door.

I step closer, muffled laughter and a bump sounding through the thick wooden door. Ron pulls out his wand, intent on unlocking the door, but I grab his wrist before he can cast a spell.

“What if it's Harry and Ginny?” I whisper.

Ron's face crumples into a grimace as he backs rapidly away from the door.

“Oh, come on,” he moans, “I don't want that mental image!”

“But it could be.”

“Then you do it, I can't witness this.”

While Ron stands a safe distance away, I break in on the unsuspecting couple in the broom closet - which is actually a pair of fifth-year Hufflepuffs - and send them on their way. They scamper off, adjusting rumpled robes as they go. I never used to, but now I feel a bit guilty breaking them up. They're out of their dorms after hours, yes, but they're not hurting anyone. And unfortunately, I can somewhat relate to the feeling of needing to be alone with someone, even though I haven't exactly acted on it.

“So, my turn to ask you something,” I say once we've fallen back into step.

“I see you're ducking the books versus Crookshanks question, but go on.”

“Would you rather be the richest, most powerful Muggle in the world or the least important wizard in the world?”

“Hmm.” We start up a staircase to the seventh floor, which instantly changes direction. “If I choose the Muggle option, then I don't know about the wizarding world at all, do I?”

“No.”

“So I would have never met you.”

I'm a step ahead of him on the stairs so when I turn around, our faces are aligned. “No, I suppose not.”

“Then that's easy, I choose being a wizard.” He gives a little laugh. “Besides, nothing really changes, I'm probably already the least important wizard in the world.”

“Not to me,” I say softly.

Ron's brows furrow just the slightest bit at my words. I wouldn't even need to stand on tiptoe to kiss him. I could just lean in and catch his lips with mine. Rounds are nearly over anyway so it wouldn't even really be irresponsible… although, I've come to realize that Ron has the power to make me do plenty of irresponsible things…

I'm a prefect, and next year I'll probably be Head Girl, but sometimes I could not possibly care less about the rules - starting an illegal defense club comes to mind - and this is one of those times. I no longer care that I'm still technically on duty or that students really aren't supposed to snog in the corridors. I just want to kiss him and maybe he's right and I do need to stop overthinking everything.

Neither of us has spoken in what feels like several weeks now, but Ron's hand wraps around mine, warm and big and a bit rough. I lean forward just the slightest bit, his face tilts up, and finally, finally, our lips meet. It's almost unbearably tender, he's not trying to ram his tongue down my throat or feel me up through my robes, he's just kissing me, soft and slow, the way I always imagined it would be. Actually, it's better. It's so much better, I almost can't process that I'm kissing _Ron_ , right now, on a moving staircase in the middle of the castle.

We're jostled apart when the staircase fits back into the corridor, dropping us off in front of the Fat Lady. Ron, who is now scarlet in the face, leaves his hand linked through mine as he bounds up to her.

“Quid agis,” he says, trying to suppress a smile and failing miserably. The Fat Lady shakes her head good-naturedly and swings open to reveal a disappointingly crowded common room.

It's really just Harry, Ginny, Neville, and Demelza Robins sitting near the fireplace, but I had been hoping for a bit more privacy. Ron's hand falls away from mine with such a swiftness that my heart sinks into my stomach. Hastily I wipe my top lip, which is still wet from a kiss that feels farther and farther away with every passing second.

The nice thing about Harry and Ginny dating is that they're both on cloud nine about it, which leaves them very little brain space to think about things as trivial as my situation with Ron. They don't seem to notice that we’re both flushed and flustered as I sit down in an empty armchair and Ron settles onto the floor in front of me.

As Harry and Ginny are half-studying, half-talking, Ron watches the flames leap about in the hearth and fidgets like he's just ingested a massive amount of sugar. Ginny asks me a Potions question and I think I answer her correctly, but Ron and his knee-bouncing and knuckle-cracking is already distracting and my mind is still back on the moving staircase. He kissed me. Ron kissed me. Or I kissed him, it all seemed to happen at once, one second we were playing a question game and the next his lips were on mine and now I can’t even think straight. I didn't feel this way after the Yule Ball with Viktor Krum and I certainly didn't feel this way when I was trying to keep Cormac McLaggen from licking my tonsils at Slughorn’s party. I just hope that Ron felt it too. I hope it was different than any of the times he kissed Lavender.

“Ugh, I've had enough of this,” Ginny states, snapping her Potions book shut. “There's still plenty of time until the OWLs, I'm going to bed.”

“Me too,” Demelza agrees, rolling off the couch with the weary disposition that can only come from OWL revision.

Ron pretends to be deeply interested in his shoelace as Harry kisses Ginny and the girls make for their dormitory. _Two down, two to go,_ I find myself thinking. I just need to outlast Harry and Neville. The room is filled with the sound of scratching quills and crackling logs and Ron's shoe tapping frantically against the carpet.

“Want to play chess?” Ron asks, craning his neck to look at me. Chess? Does he honestly expect either of us to be able to concentrate?

“Erm, sure, I suppose.”

“Brilliant.”

He bounds up the steps to the boys’ dormitory, taking them two at a time, and I realize I'm watching him go, I can't tear my eyes away. In a flash, he's back with his grandfather’s battered old chess set and starts setting up the board on the floor in front of me. I'm so riveted watching his hands do something I've seen them do a thousand times that I hardly notice when Neville gives up on his Defense Against the Dark Arts essay (“Snape will just give it a T anyway”) heads off to bed as well. Harry keeps working as I join Ron on the carpet and he starts off the match.

I'm not that great at chess, but I know Ron isn't making the most strategic moves. He still has that look of concentration that comes over him when he studies the board, he still pulls his bottom lip between his teeth while he ponders his next move, but it almost seems like he's letting me win? He's at least evening the playing field. I'm sure he can see that I don't know nor care what I'm doing.

“Well, you lot have fun,” Harry says at last, tucking his Transfiguration book under his arm. “See you tomorrow.”

“Night,” Ron replies with a vague wave of his hand. He nudges one of his knights toward one of my pawns as Harry's footsteps grow quieter and then fade out completely.

I stare down at the board, but I can't focus when I know Ron is watching me. The game pieces blur before me as I try to think of something, anything to say or do. It has to be better than this huge, tense, suffocating silence. This must be the longest anyone has not spoken, ever, in the history of human communication. Why can’t I think of anything to say? All those people who have called me the cleverest witch of my age really need to take a peek into the common room to see me rendered useless by Ronald Bilius Weasley.

“Hermione.” His voice is gentle and tentative and I lift my gaze to meet his. “Erm - what happened before…” He swallows thickly; my voice has completely vanished. “I, er, I've - well, see, I've been-”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Ron, spit it out!” I interrupt, startling even myself. Of course I can find my ability to speak if it's to scold him. “Whatever you have to say, just say it.”

He recoils just the slightest bit and then, planting his palm on the carpet beside the chess board, pitches forward and catches my lips with his. It's more eager, more confident than the last time, and in my haste to be closer to him I end up dismantling the chess board completely; the king and queen protest in annoyance.

“Whoops,” Ron chuckles, shoving it all out of the way and kissing me again.

I still can't believe it’s him who’s kissing me and how good it all feels and when he stops for the briefest second just to take a breath, I use a hand on his shoulder to pull him back to me. Only when his tongue dips along the inside of my lip do I pause; already it's further than I've gone with anyone (I'm not counting McLaggen’s brief exploration of my mouth) and the rush is overwhelming.

“Ron…” I take a deep breath to try to slow my heart rate. “What were you going to say?”

His lips are swollen and red and his eyes are heavy-lidded like he's had just a bit too much butterbeer.

“Er - I think I already said it.”

And even while I'm thinking that he hasn't said much of anything at all, there’s a magnetism between us that I can no longer fight. He tips toward me again and kisses me once more, soft and slow. Not that I have oodles of experience, but he's a good kisser. Really good. I suppose he's had a lot of practice.

“Well,” I gasp when we separate. “It's late, I should get to bed.”

“Really?” He looks crestfallen. “But…” I wait patiently for the grounds upon which he will lodge his protest. “I'll see you tomorrow, right?”

“Yes…”

“Okay.” He scrambles to his feet, raking his fingers through his hair. “Er - goodnight, then.”

I stand up as well, appreciating for the first time all night just how tall he is. To kiss him like this, I'd have to rise up on my toes and he’d still have to bend down. Right now, it seems a great distance to cross. “Goodnight.”

Ron takes a step toward me and dips his head down to my level, landing a gentle kiss on my cheek.

“Night,” he says again, casually waving his wand so that the chess set reassembles inside its box.

I step up the staircase and walk down the narrow hallway to my dormitory. Lavender and Parvati are still awake when I walk in, and I instantly feel like I may as well be wearing a t-shirt that reads _I snogged Ron_ even though there's no way, logically, that they would know.

To say things have been chilly in the dorm for the past several months would be an understatement. Lavender is many things, but she isn't the ditzy blonde that some take her to be. Yes, she loves Divination, and she was terribly clingy with Ron, particularly toward the end, but she did care about him and I know firsthand that Ron is not an easy person to get over. We've never discussed him, not even when she broke up with him because she thought he and I were doing - well, something - alone up in his dorm because Harry was under his Cloak. There's just this permanent awkwardness that comes from sleeping in the same room as the girl who fancies the same boy you do.

And then, of course, they stare at me as I make my way to my four-poster and fetch my pajamas. It wasn't that long ago that Ron and Lavender broke up in a rather dramatic fashion in front of most of Gryffindor. After everything I went through over the winter, I don't want to see anyone get hurt unnecessarily. This doesn't have to stop me from being with Ron…

If I am, in fact, with him at all. I don't know what we are now. What if we were just caught up in a moment and tomorrow everything goes back to how it was a year or two ago? I don't know if I could bear that now that I know what it's like to kiss him, the way he gets a certain look in his eyes when he moves in… I can't turn back now, but I also don't know how to go forward.

I'm not accustomed to not knowing things, and I can't say I like this feeling at all.

_Thanks for reading! Please review :)_


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your comments! 
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

My mind jolts me awake around dawn and I know instantly that it's no use trying to go back to sleep. I'll just end up lying in bed, working myself into a tizzy about Ron and kissing him and I already spent half the night letting myself relive every thrilling, overwhelming second. And so, even with hours left before breakfast, I make my way with the Spellman's Syllabary down to the common room. To my surprise, there's already a fire blazing away and a lone figure parked on the sofa in front of it. His features are cast in shadow from the flickering light, but of course I'd still know him anywhere.

"Hey," Ron greets me with a tentative smile. "You're up early."

"Says the person who would sleep until noon if he could." Though my tone is light, casual even, my feet feel glued to the carpet.

"Yeah, I couldn't sleep." Ron pats the expanse of sofa next to him. "Come here."

So I cross the room, unable once again to resist the magnetism between us, and sit down. Now that it's June, Gryffindor Tower has become almost stiflingly hot even at night, so my pajamas consist of a pair of shorts and a cotton vest.

"Did you really come down here to do homework?" asks Ron.

"I couldn't sleep either."

"Last night was kind of…" His lips twitch for a second. "Amazing? Is that okay to say?"

Rather than reply, I just shift my weight and bring my lips to his, finding that he tastes like spearmint toothpaste. Little smacking noises sound through the otherwise quiet common room as our lips meet over and over again and his hands seek out mine on my lap. With a soft sigh, I sink into it, allowing myself to do just this, without overthinking it or wondering what will happen next.

His hands shift up my arms and onto my shoulders to pull me closer and then his tongue slips into my mouth, gently exploring.

"Ron," I gasp, drawing away from him, "what about Harry?"

"What about him?"

"Well-" Our lips meet again. "What if he comes down here and sees us?"

Ron laughs and lays a smacking kiss on my lips. "It's five in the morning, he won't be up for hours."

"But if he does-"

"Then we'll tell him-" Ron's eyes grow wide. "What'll we tell him?"

I know what he's really asking: _what are we now?_

"Maybe we just shouldn't say anything for the time being, I mean, you only just broke up with Lavender."

"It was five weeks ago," Ron says with a grimace.

"That's not very long."

"Ginny and Dean broke up on the same day and she's already dating Harry-"

"I just think," I declare loudly, "that it's best if we just keep things quiet for a little while."

"Okay," he relents. "But what specifically are we keeping quiet? I mean, are you - am I your… boyfriend?"

He looks so hopeful, expectant, with just a hint of nerves, that I just want to kiss him again, but I suppose words are what he really needs right now.

"Are you?" My heart is thudding in my chest like I've just consumed a whole pot of coffee.

"Am I?"

He's too irresistible now for me not to lean in, but I nod as I do so and he's smiling broadly when we kiss again.

Just like that, Ron is now my boyfriend. It renders us giddy the rest of the day as we steal sidelong glances in Potions and squeeze hands under the table at lunch. It feels nice, actually, to keep it just between us, as though it protects the fresh relationship from prying eyes and speculative minds. Harry and Ginny are still the number one topic of gossip around the school and while they both seem impervious to it, Harry especially, I'd rather people not be whispering behind my back in the corridors. While everyone is focused on them, Ron and I are sneaking behind tapestries to snog between classes and passing notes during Charms.

Harry's own distraction works in our favor as well. He's still too caught up in Ginny to notice if I lean ever-so-subtly against Ron while we're studying on the sofa in the common room or that we're suddenly bickering a lot less. And if he does notice, he doesn't find it worth mentioning, mainly because if Ginny isn't revising for her OWLs, he's with her, soaking up the last sun-drenched days of spring. So while they go off on walks to the lake or behind the Herbology greenhouses, Ron and I find our own opportunities for quality time together.

"Come with me," Ron says in a low voice, joining me as I'm sitting in the common room on a quiet Thursday afternoon. I survey the scene: a few second-years are huddled near the fireplace trying to decide which courses to add for their third year, but as exams draw ever nearer, most students are in the library. Ordinarily, I would be too, but I selected the books I needed for exam revision weeks ago.

"Where?"

He glances around, somewhat furtive, and then slips his hand into mine. "Just trust me."

Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I allow myself to be led out of the common room and through the corridor toward the highest tower in the castle. As we're prefects, nobody questions why we're headed in the complete opposite direction of the Great Hall, where dinner is about to be served. I, for one, am thoroughly questioning it, as Ron is not one for missing meals, and surely Harry and Ginny will notice if we don't show up at all.

The evening is sunny and bright as we step to the top of the Astronomy Tower, and Ron starts nibbling his lip like he's nervous about something.

"What are we doing up here?" I ask, gazing out at the castle grounds. "This isn't some sort of spy mission, is it?"

"No," Ron chuckles. "I thought - erm - see, I was starting to feel like a pretty shit boyfriend for never taking you out on a date or anything, but it's not like we can go into Hogsmeade anymore, so I had to get a bit creative."

He drops my hand and crosses the narrow tower to retrieve, from seemingly nowhere, a circular silver tray laden down with more food than two people could possibly ever eat: sandwiches, bowls of soup, salad, strawberries, cakes and tarts.

"Before you say anything," he continues, "I did get this from the kitchens, but I gave Dobby a very generous tip for his trouble. And this wasn't even half of what he tried to give me. Oh, and hang on."

Gingerly he sets the tray on the floor in front of me, opting not to register my gobsmacked expression, and summons a fluffy blue blanket from some nook in the tower. As he lays it down on the floor, taking care to ensure that the corners aren't folded under, I stand and watch, frozen in my awe.

"Come sit," he invites me, patting the blanket next to him. When I hesitate for just the slightest moment, his face falls. "Shit," he mutters. "You hate this, don't you?"

"No!" Instantly I kneel next to him and drop a kiss on his lips. "No, it's wonderful, I just can't believe you went to all of this trouble."

"Always the tone of surprise." He kisses me again, quickly, and pushes the tray of food toward me. "I just thought it would be nice to do something just the two of us."

"It is."

"And I thought maybe for once we could have a meal without having to watch Harry making eyes at my sister."

"'Making eyes'?" I repeat with a chuckle as I pick up a sandwich.

"I don't know, my mum says that about Bill and Fleur." He gives a casual shrug and tilts forward to kiss me even though I have a mouthful of turkey and bread. Ron, as I've learned over the past ten days of our relationship, and in a revelation that surprises nobody, is really into kissing. Sometimes he'll just tug me behind a suit of armor for the briefest peck on the lips before we fall back into step with Harry like nothing has happened, and there have been a couple of nights when it's just us in the common room and it seems like our mouths don't separate for hours. It's all thrilling. It doesn't matter if it's quick and casual or if it's leading to a two-hour snogfest because it's us. It's what I've wished for all of these years and now that I have it, it's so much more than I imagined.

"So what'll we tell them when they ask why we weren't at dinner?"

"That you were making me study?" Ron grins and picks up a strawberry. "I don't know, don't you think they sort of suspect something anyway?"

"No, I really don't."

Even after we've eaten until we're bursting, there is still an insane amount of food left, so we cast a cooling charm over it so it won't spoil and situate ourselves at the edge of the tower. Our feet dangle over the edge and Ron rests his forearms on the guardrail in front of us. The sun is drifting down toward the horizon, drenching the Scottish highlands in shades of pink and orange. Lacing our hands together on top of his thigh, Ron plants a kiss on the side of my head.

"Will you come and stay again this summer?" he asks. "You have to at least come for Bill's wedding."

"Of course I'll come and stay, but I didn't really get the impression Fleur liked me very much."

"Doesn't matter, because you'll be my date."

"Well, you know what happens at weddings, don't you?" I begin with a smile. "Dancing."

"I'll dance with you," he says with such immediacy that my first instinct is to assume he's joking.

"You'll honestly dance?"

"With you I would, yeah."

There is a serious tone in his voice that I have rarely, if ever, heard from him before, and I realize that what he's saying isn't just that he'll go out of his comfort zone a bit for me at his brother's wedding. Underneath it, what he's really saying is _I'll do anything for you_.

I lean my head on his shoulder and try to picture the summer ahead of us. I can already imagine the chaos at the Burrow: Mrs. Weasley and Fleur butting heads over every detail of the ceremony, Ginny and Harry sneaking away to the pond, perhaps Ron and I holed up in his cramped little bedroom…

"It'll be a good summer," I say, hoping fiercely that my words come true.

When the sky turns a rich, inky blue, we reluctantly pack up our belongings and proceed down the spiral staircase back into the castle. Our cover story, if Harry and Ginny even bother to ask, is that we were in the library, but I'm fairly confident nobody will have noticed our absence. At the bottom of the steps, Ron abruptly stops and takes my hands in his, catching my lips in a long, slow kiss.

"Sometimes," he says with pink ears, "I actually can't believe any of this is actually happening."

"Neither can I," I admit as his mouth descends on mine again.

"I wanted this for so long," he mumbles, the words tumbling out of his throat like he can't control them anymore. "I wish we'd done this sooner." Another fierce, firm kiss. "I never should've…"

I'm jolted out of my Ron-induced haze back to reality. Instead of finishing his sentence, he moves in to kiss me again but I lean away. I may not be an expert at relationships but I know how that sentence was supposed to end and it makes my stomach turn.

Did he do these things with her, too? I spent so much time avoiding the very sight of him for months that he may well have been bringing her on picnics in the Astronomy Tower or kissing her on the moving staircases or taking her on broomstick rides. He didn't seem to have any sort of refined technique at that post-Quidditch party back in November, but he still very well could have kissed her the way he kisses me, with his entire self, like he needs it more than oxygen.

"Then why did you?" I hear myself ask. "Why did you go with her for so long?"

"Er-" Ron's face goes blotchily red. "It was stupid. I shouldn't have done, really." Dropping one of my hands, he tries to start walking down the corridor, but I plant my feet into the floor.

"But what was it?" The questions that I've tamped down since his birthday poisoning are bubbling up again and I am now powerless to stop them. "One day we were going to go to the Christmas party together and the next you wouldn't even look at me and-"

"The Christmas party? I didn't - I didn't think you really wanted to go with me."

"But I invited you!" I exclaim, bewildered. "In Herbology!"

"All you said was that you _were_ going to ask me," he says slowly.

"Well, we never got to finish talking about it, did we, because Harry was being so obnoxious and he broke that bowl and - is that why you were so mad at me? You thought I changed my mind about going?"

His hand around mine is growing sweaty, so I drop it.

"It's stupid," he repeats, though his face is growing steadily more red until it's nearly purple. "C'mon, let's go, it's past curfew."

"We're prefects," I remind him. "And we never did talk about what happened."

"It's really stupid, and I'm not mad about it anymore, so can we just-"

"I want to know what it was!" I shriek, my voice high and shrill to the point that he steps back. Blue eyes wide, he stares, shellshocked, and then lets out an aggravated breath.

"I got in this dumb fight with Ginny," he begins with a sort of resignation to the worst, "and she sort of let slip that you…" He grimaces. "Erm, y'know, snogged Viktor Krum, so-"

"So _that's_ why you were mad at me?" It takes all of my effort to keep my voice calm, to keep the shaking anger from exploding forth again. "Because I kissed Viktor Krum?"

"So you did, then?"

"It was two years ago!" My hands have balled up into tight fists, my fingernails digging into my palms. "It wasn't any of your business!"

"I told you it was stupid!" he snaps. "And I said I wasn't even mad about it anymore, I've gotten past it-"

"Oh, well, _lucky me_ ," I fire back. "You didn't have a right to get upset over it in the first place."

"Hermione, listen," he says, voice now hoarse, but I find I can't listen, I can't even look at him right now.

"Leave me alone."

Without so much as a backwards glance, I storm down the corridor.

He doesn't try to follow me.

* * *

 

Thanks for reading! Please review :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: don't own it!

That night, I sit in my four-poster and stare at the curtains hanging around Lavender's bed. Unfortunately, she and I now have quite a bit more in common than I ever would have expected. I don't know if I regret asking him what happened back in the fall. Ignorance was surely bliss, pure, unadulterated bliss, the kind that only comes from finally being with the person you've fancied since you were fourteen, but now… well, now I have the full story. Back in March, I was so terrified at the news of his poisoning and so grateful to hear that he was okay that we fell right back into our old friendship. What did it matter, really, if he was snogging Lavender Brown as long as he was alive and okay and the same Ron he'd always been. I stopped questioning it, but evidently I could only do that for so long.

It's not exactly news to me that Ron gets jealous; a quick trip down memory lane to the Yule Ball can tell me that much. But there's nothing to be jealous _of_ : Viktor lives in Bulgaria, for heaven's sake, and I haven't seen him in two years and it's been ages since I've even written him a letter, but more to the point, Ron should trust me. We've been best friends for nearly six years, after all.

I do a lot of tossing and turning and not a whole lot of sleeping that night, and when I go down to breakfast in the morning, Ron looks like he had a similar night. His hair is sticking up in all directions and there are bags under his bloodshot eyes. Could he have been crying?

"Hello," he greets me, glancing briefly up from his plate, where he is using a fork to obliterate his black and white pudding into a disgusting mush.

"Hello."

Sitting down beside Harry, I help myself to a slice of toast even though I have absolutely no appetite.

"Where were you two last night at dinner?" asks Harry, glancing between us. "Ginny and I were looking for you."

"Library," Ron mutters.

"Really?"

"Yes," I snap a little too quickly. "Exams are coming up, and - and you know, Harry, you can't keep distracting Ginny from her studying, she's got OWLs coming up and-"

"Yeah, I know," Harry shoots back. Across the table, Ron has speared a sausage on his fork and is glaring at it as though it has personally wronged him. "What's wrong with the pair of you?"

"Nothing," Ron and I say in unison. Our eyes meet, but only briefly.

Before Harry can interrogate us further, Ginny bounds over to the table and sits down on Harry's other side, consuming his attention.

God, I hate this. I hate fighting with Ron. Bickering, arguing, debating, those things are the foundation of our friendship, but this horrible tension where we can't even look at each other is something I thought I would never go through again. If we're going to break up - if the past ten days have been nothing more than a whirlwind of teenage hormones - then I at least want to stay friends. I was miserable in third year when I wasn't speaking to either of them, and earlier this year, when I thought I'd lost Ron for good, was even worse.

The three of us head off to Potions while Ginny leaves for Transfiguration, kissing Harry as he goes. Envy flashes through me at the ease, the simplicity of their relationship. They don't have any drama. There's no Lavender Brown or Viktor Krum in their story. They fell right into coupledom and have been enthralled with each other ever since, and I wish it was that easy for me and Ron. Instead we have to hide it, and we have to fight and kiss other people at Quidditch parties and set birds on one another and make plans to go to Christmas parties together only to not go together. We're just complicated, and I don't know if we'll ever be any other way.

Professor Slughorn starts the lesson by putting us into teams of two. He drags Dean Thomas over to work with Harry and pairs me with Ron, of course, because apparently our Potions master just wants to watch the world burn. While Harry and Dean begin to prepare their Sobering Solution in awkwardly cordial tones, Ron and I are assigned a Merriment Mixture.

"So…" Ron actively avoids my eyes as he scans the recipe. "We need to cube two dried crocodile hearts."

"I'll just do it," I decide, grabbing them from the supply kit on the table and picking up a knife.

"What, you reckon I'll bullocks it up somehow?" Ron mumbles under his breath.

"I never said - fine, just pulverize the plimpy eyes then."

Pulling a bowl and pestle to him, he begins to grind the eyes into a fine powder, his mouth set in a thin line. Once again, there is an enormous tension pulsing between us, but not the kind that comes from feeling like you might die if you don't find out what it's like to kiss the other person. This is the sort that comes from desperately wanting to say something, but not knowing where to begin.

He's standing right next to me, but I still miss him.

"How many is that?" I ask as Ron hands me a bowl of plimpy eye dust.

"Six."

"Why would you do six? It's supposed to be five."

Ron's eyes smolder with irritation before he reaches into the bowl, pinches a bit of powder between his fingers, and drops it into the table.

"There." His voice is clipped, terse. "Now it's five."

"That's not how it works, you can't just-"

"You know what, Hermione," he says loudly, blood rushing into his face, "if you're so bloody perfect, then you can just do it yourself. Don't really need me, do you?"

Snatching his rucksack off of the floor, he slings it over his shoulder and storms out of the classroom.

"Ron!" Harry shouts after him. "What are you doing?"

But it's too late, Ron is gone, and Professor Slughorn is already marking down a zero in his gradebook for the day.

God, I hate this.

I pull my copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_ toward me to see what's next on the recipe and my stomach feels like it disintegrates. There, between _2 dried crocodile hearts, cubed_ and _4 Mandrake leaves_ , the recipe reads, quite clearly, _6 plimpy eyes, powdered._

I feel like the worst human being alive.

The rest of the day's classes slip by in their usual fashion, with the exception that I see Ron at none of them. He also isn't at lunch, and he's not in the common room in the evening, and when he isn't at dinner, I start to wonder if he somehow snuck out of the castle and simply went home. I don't find him in the library, not that I really expect to, and so I settle in, ready to spend the evening with my Arithmancy textbook. At least with subjects like Arithmancy, there's logic and order to keep me sane. There's a right answer and a wrong answer and there's no room for guesswork or interpretation. There's no room for self-doubt or any of the other awful feelings currently plaguing me.

Shortly before closing time, the heavy wooden doors of the library creak open and slow footsteps approach my table. I look up and of course it's Ron, bearing his own Potions textbook and a blank expression. He seats himself in the chair across from mine and opens the book up to the Merriment Mixture recipe, tearing the page out with a crack that echoes through the quiet.

"There," he says, pointing to the part about six plimpy eyes as if I haven't spent the entire day thinking about it.

"You ripped a page out of a book?" I blurt out, causing him to shake his head in frustration.

"Oh, is that what we're focusing on, really?" With a wave of his wand, he wordlessly repairs the book. "Anything else?"

"I-" I force myself to look at him. "I'm sorry. About class."

"Hermione, I know I'm not perfect," he says as he closes the textbook. "Far from it. But I'd've thought at least you would have a little faith in me."

"Ron-"

"I got in this dumb row with Ginny," he continues on, now studying his hands intently, "because Harry and I walked in on her snogging Dean, and I sort of lost it on her because nobody likes seeing their little sister snogging anyone. And so she started yelling back about how Harry'd snogged Cho and you'd snogged Krum and I was the only loser around who hadn't snogged anyone.

"And so I started thinking that of course you had, because you could have anyone you want, really, so of course you'd pick him. And then I thought that maybe you were just inviting me to that bloody party so that all three of us could go, and it wasn't a date like I thought, because - I mean, you just seemed so far out of my reach."

Every word seems to take an enormous effort for him, and he's picking at a hangnail on his thumb, and never before has he been this vulnerable. I want to take his hands and tell him that Viktor Krum is nothing compared to him, not in my book, but my throat is frozen.

"Then there was that whole mess with the Felix and you just seemed so sure that I could never do anything right without a potion to help me and I just thought 'fine, I'll find someone who thinks I'm worth a damn'. And so I did. And I'm not proud of the fact that I basically used her or that I got so jealous over something that happened two years ago, but it's what happened.

"I wasn't mad at you for kissing him," he says thickly. "Or maybe I was, I don't know. I know I took it out on you, but I was mostly mad at myself for getting my hopes up about you... y'know, for thinking that I could ever be with someone like you."

Once, I told Ron that he had the emotional range of a teaspoon, out of frustration more than anything, but now I wonder if it actually might be me that's stunted. All I want to do is explain to him that he's completely off base, that he's so much more than he realizes and that I want to melt into the floor for feeding into his insecurity, but feelings aren't a thing that I'm terribly good at expressing.

"I know I've acted like a prat and I get it if you don't want to - to go together anymore, but I just thought I should at least explain it to you."

Ron gives a conclusive nod and places his palms on the table, about to stand up.

"Wait," I say meekly. "Ron, I - I don't know why you didn't tell me all of this when it happened. I couldn't understand why you suddenly seemed to hate me."

"Well-" He clearly hasn't anticipated any further discussion. "Yeah, I could have done, but then I'd have had to explain that I've fancied you for at least two years and then you would have had to very politely reject me-"

"But I wouldn't have!"

"But I didn't know that! I thought you only invited me to that party so I wouldn't have to be left out, it seemed like something you'd do."

And I suppose, in retrospect, that asking him in the middle of Herbology class in front of Harry doesn't exactly imply that I'm hoping we'll be kissing under mistletoe by the end of the night.

"Well, I did mean for it to be a date. Maybe I should have been more clear."

"Maybe." I know him well enough to know that he's trying very hard to suppress a smile.

"Ron, if I had to pick," I say seriously, "between you and Viktor Krum, I would choose you a thousand times over."

A mixture of disbelief and amazement crosses over his face, his eyes bright.

"Really?"

"Yes!" I exclaim, indignant. "Of course! Nobody else makes me laugh like you do, or looks out for me, or - or understands me the way you do."

He grins broadly and rests his forearms on the little table, leaning toward me.

"I really am sorry about being such a - such a git this year."

"I haven't always been so wonderful either."

"Are we-" Ron chuckles. "Can we kiss now?"

I respond by tilting my face and fitting my lips against his, savoring the soft, slow contact. His hand on the table finds mine, our fingers interlocking.

"Where have you been all day, by the way?"

"Oh, here and there," Ron shrugs. "I went out for a fly, made a visit to Dobby in the kitchen, that sort of thing. Was anyone mad that I wasn't in class?"

"Just me," I quip, making him laugh and kiss me again. "What did you tell Harry?"

"Haven't seen him. But it's all right, I'll think of something."

He brings his mouth to mine again and neither of us speaks again until Madame Pince kicks us out.

_Thanks for reading! Please review :)_


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: HP is not mine!

Looking back, the days immediately following the Death Eaters' invasion of Hogwarts feel like an odd, fragmented dream, the sort of thing where you wake up and think 'thank goodness _that_ didn't actually happen'. Except, of course, that this actually did. Professor Dumbledore is dead, murdered by Professor Snape, and Bill may or may not be a werewolf, and they may or may not close the school down for good. I don't know how Hogwarts can possibly recover from something like this, and I don't know who's going to protect us, especially Harry, now that Dumbledore is gone. All I know, really, is that nothing will ever be the same.

Harry spends more time with Ginny than ever before during these days. She seems to be the only thing that comforts him, or maybe he just knows that their hours together are limited. The train back to King's Cross is leaving exactly an hour after Dumbledore's funeral concludes, and we really have no idea what will happen after that. Harry will go back to the Dursleys and I'll go back to my parents but then we have to figure out how to help Harry do what he's been fated to do since before he was born. Somehow.

The craziest part of all of it is that Harry, who is bright and clever and powerful, still hasn't the foggiest clue about me and Ron. He has no idea that we sneak down to the common room at night to see each other, that Ron squeezes my hand under the table in the Great Hall, that we've been sneaking behind tapestries at every possible moment. At this point, I don't think he would really care too much. He has his own problems, his own things to worry about, and there's just no room for a frivolous teenage romance.

Except, it doesn't feel frivolous to me at all. Sure, we sneak around and there's a lot of snogging and roaming hands, but ever since our talk in the library, it has felt like so much more. There's a look he gets in his eyes sometimes when he's about to kiss me or when he looks down at our intertwined hands that shows just how much this means to him. I don't know how I could have ever questioned him, could have worried that I would be just another Lavender to him, because we have something that most people never find, and we're only seventeen.

The night before the funeral, Ginny kisses Harry goodnight and goes off to bed, and the three of us spend a bit more time talking about the many mysteries in our lives, and then Harry gives up and goes up to the boys' dorm as well. Ron and I, as we've found ourselves so many times these past weeks, are alone in the common room. Normally, in happier times, we would end up snogging on the sofa near the fireplace or curled up together in an armchair with my legs on his lap, but not tonight. Instead, I slip my fingers into his and rest my head on his shoulder.

"Everything's going to be fine, right?" Ron says, not sounding at all confident. "It has to be."

"I don't know," I reply. "But honestly… I don't really think so."

"I feel like I've been screwing up all year," Ron admits, rubbing his thumb over the back of my hand. "With you, and not believing Harry when he was so sure Malfoy was - I've just done everything wrong."

"It isn't your fault."

"But if I'd just listened to him-"

"I did the same thing," I remind him. "We couldn't possibly have known, you can't blame yourself."

"Well… I do."

Lifting my head, I plant a kiss on his cheek, then catch his lips with mine.

"How is it you always taste like chocolate?" I ask when we pull apart, hoping to infuse a bit of lightness into the moment. In twelve hours, after all, we'll be on the train.

"Oh, it's in my blood at this point, I don't know." The corner of his mouth crooks up in a smile as he kisses my nose. "Is it a problem?"

"Not at all."

"Are you sure? Because it's not sugar-free."

"Oh, stop." Swatting his chest, I angle up for another kiss.

"Hermione," he says as we break apart. "Will you - will you stay with me tonight? I'm not, like, expecting anything," he's quick to assure me, "and feel free to tell me to bugger off, but I just-"

"Okay," I find myself agreeing. "I'll see you up there in five minutes."

He looks surprised, but it's an easy decision to make. If any of his roommates notice, I doubt they'll care, and even if we did get caught, how much trouble could we really be in? It sounds much more appealing to spend the night nestled up against Ron than alone in my twin bed in a dorm where I barely speak to my roommates.

I do slip up to my room, just to change into my pajamas, and then it's back to the common room and up the boys staircase to the dormitory housing the sixth years. Ron has left the door open just a crack, and I soundlessly close it behind me as I creep to his bed. Soft snoring is emitting from one of the beds as I draw back the curtain and crawl onto the mattress beside Ron. He's wearing an old, thin t-shirt with a small hole in the collar and a pair of shorts, and our bare legs tangle up as I settle myself against his chest. With one arm, he retrieves his wand from his bedside table and waves it in a circle above us, muttering an incantation.

"Imperturbable Charm," he whispers. "Harry's not asleep yet."

"Good idea."

Ron's hand dips under the back of my shirt, fingertips trailing lazily over my skin. All is quiet thanks to the charm he's cast, and my head rises and falls with his steady breathing. I want to spend every single night like this and yet I know, somehow, that this is all we're going to get.

"I know it's mental," Ron says softly, flattening his palm against my skin, "but I don't want to leave tomorrow. I just want to stay and be with you."

"We can't stay."

"I know, but… I just wish we could." He kisses the top of my head. "I wish a lot of things."

"So do I."

I close my eyes, training my ear on the dull thudding of his heart behind his ribs, sliding my fingers over the coarse scars on his arms that will never fully fade.

"I love you." Ron's words make my eyes snap open to look at him; his fingertips are pressing into my side. "You don't have to say anything," he continues in a low, husky voice. "I just wanted you to know."

I inch up his torso until our faces align. "I love you too."

He kisses me then, slow and gentle. There's none of the urgency that usually comes from kissing him, none of the eagerness for our tongues to tangle or our hands to seek out each other's skin. I just want to be close to him, to know that he's here and he's real and he's not going anywhere.

I think I know what's going to happen tomorrow - what has to happen - but I can cling to tonight at the very least. I can have this one last night to be seventeen and in love before reality comes screaming back to us.

When I wake in the morning, I'm lying almost fully on top of him, my face buried into his neck. Ron's watch, which he fell asleep wearing, tells me that it's nearly six, but I don't want to leave. It's warm beneath the blankets and his arm is around me and I know I'm safe here because I'm with him.

"Ron," I breathe, scared to make noise in case his charm wore off. His eyelids flutter. "Ron, I should go."

One big hand slides up my back and into my hair as he pulls me into a kiss. My throat tightens; this feels like an ending.

"I'll see you in a few," he whispers around kisses. Threading my fingers into his hair, I try to linger on the kiss as long as possible, even if it means I have to sacrifice breathing to do it.

Eventually, though, it becomes clear that I do need to leave, so I slip out of the security of Ron's four-poster and tiptoe out of the dorm undetected. The castle is calm, quiet, as I return to my own dormitory and prepare for what I expect will be the last day I ever spend at Hogwarts.

The funeral is awful. It's all very formal and ceremonial, even with Hagrid crying enormous tears and the mournful song of Fawkes the phoenix. Harry goes to talk to Ginny, and I can tell from the look on his face that he has nothing good to say. I already know that even if the school does open next year, the three of us aren't coming back. There's just no way that we can do normal things like go to Charms class and attend Quidditch matches knowing what lies ahead for Harry. And I know, even as I'm sobbing on Ron's shoulder and he's stroking my hair and whispering over and over through his own tears that "it's okay, it's okay, it's okay" that he doesn't even really believe that, and nothing is going to be okay for a very, very long time.

What Harry's just done, he didn't want to do. He had a few short weeks of happiness with Ginny, just a blip in the grand scheme of things to be a lovesick teenager and now it's gone because of this burden that he never asked for. It doesn't mean that he doesn't love her or that he wouldn't change things if he could. It just means that it's not time for them yet.

And Harry needs me and Ron. I don't know where we're going or what any of this will entail, but I know he can't do it alone, and I wouldn't want him to.

The walk to Hogsmeade station is quiet, somber. Ginny is with a few of her friends from the Quidditch team so it's just the three of us making our way to our very last trip to the Hogwarts Express. Ron takes my hand; I let him. It really doesn't matter who sees or what they think and I highly doubt anyone even cares. I don't know why I used to concern myself with such trivial things.

We have six hours left. Six hours until we're back in London and the summer officially begins. As the train rumbles to life, I watch the wild countryside roll by and try to formulate a plan with the meager bit of information that I do have. I know that no matter what, I'll be at the Burrow in a few weeks, but there's plenty that needs to be done before then. As the castle fades from view, I decide that I can accomplish at least one of those dreaded tasks right here on the train.

"We've got to patrol the train," I say to Harry, even though McGonagall said nothing of the sort to us prefects. "We'll be right back."

Ron maintains a poker face as we exit the compartment and begin to walk. I do glance into the other compartments occasionally, but it seems nobody is really in the mood for misbehavior. Even the younger students know how serious this is. Finally, toward the back of the train, I find an empty compartment.

"Come here," I say, pulling Ron inside and sliding the door shut. We sit on the bench seat, angled toward each other, and instantly my eyes fill with tears. "Erm… Ron…"

"I already know what you're going to say," he interrupts, looking pale, almost queasy. "And I get it. I know all the reasons why, I was thinking it all last night." I blink and hot tears spill down my cheeks. "But what I said - I meant it. I still mean it."

"So do I."

He's probably known, like I have, that this has been coming since Draco Malfoy let the Death Eaters into the school. There's just no way we can be together right now, not when there is an enormous, near-impossible task at hand, not when Harry needs us the most. We told him, in no uncertain terms, that we would be there for him, that we're with him whatever happens, and that's that. We have to put ourselves aside.

"I know there's no changing your mind," says Ron with a weak, rueful smile. "But could I just kiss you one more time?"

I nod, because the lump in my throat won't allow me to speak, and Ron brushes the moisture off my cheeks as he leans in. His lips touch mine and it occurs to me that I could spend the next six hours doing just this, but that will only make it all worse when we have to part.

When we finally separate, I keep my eyes closed, wondering how long it'll be until the taste of his lips finally fades. I hope it takes ages.

"It's okay," Ron says for the hundredth time that day, even though his voice is shaking. "We're going to be just fine."

"We should go back," I say, wiping my cheeks. "Harry's waiting, we shouldn't leave him by himself."

"Right. Harry."

We stand and Ron instantly pulls me to him in a tight hug. He gives the best hugs, warm and strong and all-encompassing, but I can't let myself sink into it, not anymore. Maybe someday we can have this again, in some world where the right side has won and Harry's alive and all we have to worry about is NEWTs, but this is our reality right now and we have to live it.

"Let's go."

Harry is staring blankly out of the window when we return to our compartment, the opening door seeming to jar him out of a daydream.

"Are you two alright?" he asks as Ron falls onto the seat by the window. I sit beside him, leaving a safe distance between us.

"Yeah," Ron nods, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. "Just tired."

I try to tell myself that Ron's still my best friend, that one day - maybe not today, but someday soon - we can laugh together again and bicker and drive Harry batty just like we always do, but it's little comfort. I know now what it's like to have what I've always wished for, to be wholly in love and happy and completely carefree. I know it'll never be like that again, even if we can somehow be together in the future.

But I was lucky to have it at all, and I suppose, as Ron flashes a shy smile my way, that I just need to be grateful for that. Those few weeks, those stolen moments, the hidden glances and secret kisses, were more than I ever could have dreamed.

Someday, maybe we can have it again. Until then, I've got one more reason to fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there we have it! I hope you've enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it, which was quite a lot. Originally this was meant to be a one-shot where they did kiss at the Quidditch party, but then I thought I'd have Harry be his usual self and interrupt them and then this happened. Thank you so so much for all of your amazing reviews and for being so supportive, it means the world, you don't even know. If you liked the ending (I know they didn't exactly ride off into the sunset) or even if you hated it and you're super mad at me, go ahead and review!


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